"Alright, I'm here," I said aloud to no one. The air was crisp and wet as the wind blew strongly across the barren park. My clothes were drenched, but the rain had soften now, and I wasn't about to turn this walk around yet. Mist soaked my eyelids. "It's right there, right there, that's where I read the letter from Emma, or rather, about Emma. That's where I learned she was mine, didn't I."
    My eyes scanned the land and at the top of the hill there was a lone tree. "I sat underneath that tree and I read that letter. I sat underneath that tree when it was still summer and the leaves still green." Still aloud, and still to no one, but the descriptions made me feel better, made me breath in the dry summer air. "Now what is that tree, but a mangle skeleton of branches. You see, you see, it's just branches now, just pieces of sticks glued together, not a real tree, but a shell. A dying shell."
    I marched up the hill to that tree.
    "I'm here again, lord, I'm here. I didn't want to be here, but still I came. I walked here, lord, walked. There's the spot, the one I read the letter on, lord, you see it. Of course you do, you're the lord. What am I going to do now, lord. It wasn't suppose to be this way, I wasn't suppose to be this way. I never wanted her, I never wanted anything like her. A child? No, I am no father. I'm not you lord, I'm not." The wind rustled the naked branches.
    "Is that your answer, a little wind, lord? Give me a hurricane for my anger. I'm not worth it, am I? I'm not worth the hurricane. Why, why lord, why? It's not this way, it's not. My life does not go this way. I was to be famous lord, did you forget, I was to change this shitty word you put me on. Instead, instead, INSTEAD you gave me the one little pile of destiny I didn't want the most. And now I, alone, always alone, lord, have to decide." Again the wind blew, and the water hanging onto the tree, fell on me.
    "Two options, I am Father, which I am far unqualified for, or I'm Not Father, which leads me down a path of guilt, down a path, BAREFOOT, down a path of thorns. Which is nobler, giving up the life that I want, and seek, for some girl I've never met. Or staying the course and living how I wanted to. Which one did you choose, lord, which one? You didn't even pay child support to Mary, lord. Now, what kind of father is that. What kind of father sends his only son to inaccessible places, and then, although with the power, doesn't even help him. You're a deadbeat dad, lord, that's what you are." The skeleton tree creaks and moans.
    "What am I to do, lord, what? I'm only NINETEEN, Lord. God damn you for fucking with my life, my path," I smiled. "Can I really God damn you, lord, can I? Ok, let's just assume I can, if I say God damn you, lord, is that even correct English? I think there is a syntax problem there, lord, and I think you better fix it. Fix it now, lord," my voice was harsh and strained and scrapping across the words.
    "I didn't mean to fuck up your plan. I didn't mean to, or maybe you're such a horrid being that this was your plan. That is was your plan all along to destroy me, like you did your son. You know what this does to me, lord, this makes me mortal. I had seven years where I wasn't. Seven years spent dancing on the neck of mortality. And you took that from me. You messed up with my destiny and you took my immorality. How am I suppose to change the world now, if I can die, HOW? I'm too young, lord, too young."
    "What should I do, lord?  Should I be a father, does that give me a free ride into heaven. I don't know if I deserve that, lord, I'm just not sure heaven is where I would put me. I'm ok with that, I'm ok with that, lord. If I run, and never be apart of some creatures life, is that a ‘go directly to hell, without passing go' card. Is it right for me to sacrifice my life, for her, lord, for her. You couldn't do it, fuck, you did the opposite, you watched his like sacrificed for you, lord, you." My pacing stopped, and I leaned against the wet bark of the tree.
    "I'm tired, lord, you make me tired, lord," The sound of wood bending. "You can stop stealing it from me. I'll lie down right here and let you have it. You can take my soft blue will ‘o wisp soul, and chuck up into heaven, but don't say I didn't warn you. Or you can cast it down into the fire and the demons. I don't care, lord, I'm tired and you already took from me the only aspect I enjoyed of life, my future. So I'm going to take leave of this hill and this tree, lord. I'm going to take leave."
    So I walked back to my home. I walked through the wet streets, my shoes sploshing on the wet cement. I walked by the yellow and brown leaves, their drenched, dead, bodies tumbling down the gutter waterways. I walked by the houses, warm, and glowing in defiance against the cold fall night. I walked until I felt my youth slip up and off my shoulders. Leaving the pink flesh exposed in the night.